


Lovers Spit

by borys



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Use, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Physical Abuse, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borys/pseuds/borys
Summary: Used to be one of the rotten ones, and I liked you for that
Relationships: Amanda De Santa/Michael De Santa, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. one

april 1982

Trevor was just trying to sleep when he heard a quick knock at his window. 

He pulls up the blinds to see Michael. His nose was trickling blood and was wearing his letterman jacket. Some blood had gotten onto the white collar. 

He opened the window and immediately tried to grab his shoulder, or his hand, or something. “What’s wrong?”

“Trev…” 

“Yeah?” 

Michael blinked at him. “I finally did it.” 

This confused Trevor. “What do you mean? Do you want to come in? Mom hasn’t been around in a week and Ryan’s in a booze coma. You can climb in.” 

“No… Yes.” He hoisted himself through the window and landed on the carpet next to Trevor’s bed. He sat next to Trevor on the bed. He wouldn’t look at him. 

“What did you do?” 

“I got up to go to the bathroom while I was doing my homework. Dad was passed out on his stupid fucking recliner and I guess I woke him up because he got up and starting wailing on me.”

Trevor then realised. Michael had finally done but Trevor had told him to do for years. 

“And I’m so… Tired, Trevor. I’m so tired of him. I was so tired of him beating my ass black and blue every day I can remember that I finally hit him back. I punched the stupid fuck in the face.” He touched his nose and winced, pulling back his fingers to see the blood. It was like he hadn’t noticed. 

“What’d he do?” Trevor asked, picking up a shirt from the floor and pressing it under his nose. He didn’t really want to have blood stains on his sheets like a teenage girl who got her period for the first time.

Michael grabbed the shirt too, but Trevor didn’t let go. “What do you think? He stood there for a second, and then he told me to get the fuck out of his house.”

“Forever this time?”

“Forever this time.” 

They sat quietly for a second, the breeze coming in through the window. Trevor rested a hand on Michael’s leg.

“You want me to kill him for you?” 

He wasn’t sure how genuine he was being, even though he relished in the thought sometimes. 

“Would you?” Michael said, wiping the last bit of blood from under his nose and looking at the shirt. “I like this shirt. You should’ve gotten a towel.” 

Trevor took the shirt from him and threw it on the floor. “Fuck the shirt. You know what we should do?” He messed with Michael’s jacket, straightening it on his shoulders and smoothing it down. It would be hard to wash the stains off. 

Michael looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “T, I’m not in the mood right now.” 

He laughed, despite himself. “No, dumbass. We should leave. Take off. Hit the road. Never come back. We’re 18.” This he was genuine about, as serious as he had ever been. 

He had imagined it a lot, too. Trevor could finally be free of his mother, her suffocation, and his brother, the memory of what he used to be. Him and Michael, like it should be. Like it always should have been.

“We can’t just leave, T. I have Amanda, and my sister, and my mom, and what would your mom think if you just up and disappeared?” 

“She’d probably party in the hopes that I was dead.”

He tried to ignore the comment about Amanda. Fucking Amanda, who Michael ditches Trevor for, just to finger her in the back of her dad's truck. Trevor teases him, says he can finger him in the back of a truck if he wants. It makes Amanda wheeze from laughter and Michael stutter. 

Michael grabbed his hand. “It’s alright. I can stay at Amanda’s house for a while. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Jesus fuck, when did your life become centered around Amanda? It’s news to me.” He snatched his hand away. He did feel bad about it. Michael so rarely reached out for physical comfort. 

He looked tired, like he could never understand why Trevor doesn't like her. But somewhere in his heart, he probably knows. “It’s not the time, T. Not right now.”

He knew it wasn’t, but it didn’t stop him from pushing his thumb in the wound and twisting. “She’ll be fine by herself. We have phones, you can call her if you so please. But what has she ever done for you? She’s not who you came to when-” 

“What did I tell you? Fucking stop. Please.” 

He puts his head in his hands and sighs, looking like he’s near tears. Trevor can count on one hand he’s seen Michael cry, when Trevor’s cried in front of him so many times he couldn't even start. 

“I know I can’t stay here forever, but can I stay tonight?” 

Trevor says yes, of course.

-

october 1980

Michael meets Amanda at the beginning of their junior year, and, by extension, so does Trevor.

It’s not like she had never been there. She always had been, skulking in the parking lot and asking for cigarettes or sitting on the back of the bus and getting harassed by boys. 

Michael only noticed her when her family moved from an apartment to their trailer park. They moved into the one opposite of his, diagonally from Trevor’s. Her and her sister had a screaming match on the lawn the day they moved in, her sister ruddy-faced and swollen with pregnancy. 

Unlike what his mom and brother say, Trevor isn’t attached to Michael at the hip. He doesn’t even realize Amanda and Michael are friends until about two weeks after she moved. And he doesn’t care.

Trevor didn’t see her as a threat initially. She wasn’t some mildly pretty girl with a perm and acid wash jeans like who he always imagined Michael with. She wore lots of eyeliner and thick sweaters in the summer and a cloud of weed-smell hung around her perpetually. 

Suspicions didn’t so much as start to arise as they started to explode when Trevor went to the creek one day, expecting to just see Michael, but seeing Amanda as well.

The creek is definitively Michael And Trevor's Space. Nobody else hung out there because it stank and you couldn't take a step without coming across a crushed beer can, a broken bottle, or a waterlogged tennis shoe. It was only accessible through a trail behind their trailer park, and nobody wanted to walk through that shithole either. 

Nobody in their right minds wants to go there. 

So, when Trevor sees Michael walking into the entrance to the trail, he decides that he’s tired of watching the same shit on TV and follows him.

He finds Michael, but it’s not only Michael. He finds Michael and Amanda with her stupid thick sweaters and Michael’s hand up under her stupid thick sweater.

Amanda hears him first, and turns her head towards him with a ferocious speed. Michael mutters something and then looks up.

“Oh, T.” He says, awkwardly. “Hey.”

“Well, I’ll just leave.” Trevor said, putting his hands on his hips. “Since you guys are so clearly fucking busy.” Trevor was well aware of how he looked, and wasn’t self conscious about it. He used his untrustworthy, juvenile delinquent look to his advantage.

Amanda rolls her eyes and Michael shakes his head at her minutely, which flattered Trevor a little. “It’s alright, man. We’re, uh, done.” 

She looks at him like he’s crazy and whispers, not very subtly, “No, we’re not. Make him leave.” She is clearly just trying to get fucked, which Trevor can respect to a degree, but he feels like being an asshole.

He grins at them both. “Mikey? You're gonna make me leave?” 

Trevor thinks that is when Amanda first knew, and then the pieces of their dynamic fell into place. She doesn’t particularly like Trevor, and vice versa, but there is a level of respect between the two. They don’t disagree on a personality basis, they disagree on a possessive basis.

The three end up hanging out together anyways, to humor Michael. All of them are incredibly argumentative, especially Michael, so they get into screaming matches at lunch and during gym. Trevor and Amanda sit together at Michael’s football matches and make fun of the cheerleaders who won’t give either of them the time of day.

It works. And when people ask Michael if he’s dating Amanda, he shrugs and smiles, like even he doesn’t know. 

-

december 1981

Trevor forgets it’s Christmas until four in the afternoon, when Michael knocks on his window and gestures for him to come outside.

He’d expected him earlier, because they’re on break and they usually hang out all day during breaks. He’s been passing the time by actually reading a book that was assigned for English. He decided that it was definitely uncool to push your friend out of a tree.

Trevor passes through the living room on the way out, where his mother is sitting on the couch and smoking while watching TV. “Where are you going?” She asked, barely looking away from whatever soap opera she was watching. 

“Gas station. Getting some soda.” He said, hoping she didn’t realize Trevor never has any kind of money that Ryan doesn't steal.

She looks to him, raising her eyebrows. “Not planning to get anything for your poor mother, Trevor? On Christmas?” 

He stared at her. 

“Didn’t even remember? As usual, you don’t care about anything but your damn self.” She sneers at him and turns back to the TV. 

“Mom-I’ll-It’s-” She shakes her hand at him dismissively. 

“Just go. If you see Ryan, tell him to get his ass back over here.” 

He nodded and left the house, stomach churning. Michael wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he walked down the pathway to the creek. 

Amanda wasn’t there, it was just Michael, sitting on the dirt facing the water.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Mikey!” He said, walking over to him and slapping his back before sitting down next to him. “You in the spirit?” 

“Totally, if wanting to get buzzed counts as in the spirit.” Michael said, picking up a six pack of beers he had next to him. “Got them from Amanda, but she actually has shit to do today.”

“Good. She’s a shitty person to get drunk with.” Trevor says, grabbing a beer. “She just talks about her life or whatever. I’m not a shrink.” 

“And you’re absolutely peachy when you’re drunk? You just bring up old shit, like that argument we had in freshman year about if the girl from Carrie is hot or not.” 

“She’s not! She looks like one of the fucking Brady bunch. Blonds have something to hide.” This was further proven by Lester, a semi-friend of theirs who was homeschooled and talked like the government was listening. He was alright, but he rarely left the house and lived with actual normal parents who loved him. 

“Oh? What about Barbra Streisand?” 

Trevor had to clamp his hand over his mouth to not spit his drink everywhere. 

“What?” 

“You do realize that is the fruitiest thing you’ve ever said to me, right?” Trevor said, still laughing. “And you have talked about sucking me off. Multiple times.”

Michael laughed too, surprisingly. “Okay, yeah, whatever. I have a sister, I have to listen to her music half the time.”

“Just because Ryan smokes meth and listens to the Sex Pistols doesn’t mean I have to.” He said, distastefully. He finished his drink and threw the bottle across the creek at a tree. It broke and shards of glass flew into the river. 

“You have smoked meth before.” Michael pointed out. “You paced for five hours and told Amanda she had bugs crawling out of her eyes.” He tossed his bottle too, but it just landed in the creek and washed away.

“It was clearly a metaphor. Just because you don’t understand the intricacies of hallucinations doesn't mean they don’t exist.” He said, matter of factly. “And aren’t you supposed to be some big fucking football star? That throw was weak.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I am not a big fucking football star, remember? They kicked me off the team. You’re really letting yourself go.” 

Trevor gets close to his face, closer than comfortable. “Of course I remember, dipshit.” He grins at him. “You never forget the first time someone breaks another guy’s nose for your honor.” 

“Okay, that is definitely not how it w-”

“No, no, no! You can’t lie to me, Mikey. It was very romantic.” 

-

september 1981

The football season barely starts before Michael gets booted. 

He’s good, everybody knows it, even when not everyone particularly likes him. In fact, almost nobody on his team likes him very much. This is for a variety of reasons.

He hangs out with Trevor and Amanda, which is basically a cardinal sin because Trevor is a faggot and Amanda is a whore. It doesn’t help that neither of them shower as much as they should and they both live in the worst part of town. 

He also will argue with anyone about anything. Most people get tired of that within days, and just stop trying out of annoyance. 

The reason Michael is booted is more to do with the first issue. 

It’s after a game, a good one, and Trevor and Amanda find him when he’s done and give him typical snarky almost-praises. They're standing in the parking lot and arguing about if cheerleaders actually serve purpose when one of the dudes on Michael’s football team, Devin, comes up and claps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, dude, you gonna come and hang out with us at the diner? Dom’s buying, that rich fucker.” He smiled. 

Dom was actually just about the only person on the team Michael could stand. Sure, he was foolhardy and ridiculous, but he truly did not give a shit about money, class, or reputation. If he liked you, he liked you. 

“Nah, man. I got plans.” Michael wasn’t lying, the trio had planned to get stoned and throw rocks at the tweakers who come off meth highs in the park. “Sorry.”

Amanda looked satisfied with the answer, but Trevor was curious if he would actually hold out. Sometimes he ditched them, and Amanda would go off and do whatever the fuck she did while Trevor did whatever the fuck he did. 

Devin groaned dramatically. “C’mon, man! You did great today, celebrate!” 

“He’s celebrating with us. Sorry.” Amanda said, putting a hand on her hip. “Maybe next time. Let’s go.” She was obviously getting impatient and trying to commandeer the situation, like she always did. 

“Yeah. You heard her. But I’ll totally come next time.” Michael stepped away from Devin, towards Trevor and Amanda, holding his hands out apologetically. 

Devin laughed, loudly. “Damn, you’re really whipped by that bitch. You sh-”

Trevor interrupted Devin with a swift, if not very accurate, punch to the jaw. His teeth clacked together loudly, and he stumbled backwards, but didn’t seem terribly injured. “What the fuck?” 

“You think because you’re some macho fucking football star that you can disrespect women?” Trevor asked, rubbing his knuckles. 

Amanda inched away from the commotion, but still stayed where she could see. Michael sighed and put his hand on the back of Trevor’s neck, attempting to steer him away. “T.” He said. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” 

“But he fucking! You know!” 

“Yeah, I know. C’mon.” He used a little more force now, grabbing his elbow with his other hand and tugging him away. Trevor glared at him.

They were almost away when Devin shouted, “Yeah, get your faggot fucking friend out of my face!” 

Amanda realized what was going to happen before anyone else did, and she watched. She wished she had popcorn. 

Trevor tried desperately to wiggle out of Michael’s grasp, but he didn’t have to. Michael let go of him and sprinted at Devin before he even realized what was happening and tackled him. 

Amanda gave a whoop of encouragement, Trevor stood and stared. 

The next day was friday, and Michael had a talk with the principal that consisted of a lot of yelling, arguing, and bargaining. It was abundantly clear that Mr. Norton was not going to budge, but he wanted to at least try. 

He promised to get his grades up, do community service, apologize to Devin, clean the uniforms, anything so that he could stay on the team. 

All pleas were met with a strong no. He sent him out and told him at least he wasn’t suspended. At fucking least. 

Trevor was waiting for him outside, like he said he would be. He was throwing rocks at cars and looked especially bored, he’d been waiting for half an hour.

When he heard Michael come up behind him, he spun around and smiled. “How’d the meeting go? You rough Mr. Norton up too?” 

“No. I’m off the team.” 

That clearly made Trevor’s blood boil. “Why?”

“I don’t know, Trevor, maybe it’s because I beat a kids face in for no reason?” He rubbed his forehead. 

“There was a reason! It was basically social activism!” Trevor gestured wildly and looked actually very pissed off. 

“Yeah, I’m Rosa fucking Parks. What was I supposed to tell him?” 

“I don’t know! But the next time I see that old fuck in the hallway I’m bashing his brains in with a golf club.” He mimed out the act dramatically. “Now let’s go the fuck home.” 

They walked back quietly, Trevor holding himself in the way he does. He looks confident, different than how most creepy and disheveled teenage boys look. 

He looked over. “What are you staring at, sugar?” 

He didn’t realize he’d been staring. Oops. “Nothing.” 

“Thinking about the pretty face you saved last night? I don’t think I thanked you for that. Thank you. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

He looked at him earnestly, and the worst part was that Michael knew he was dead serious. Michael bought him a cassette tape for his birthday earlier in the year and he cried for two hours. And it wasn’t because Parallel Lines was an emotionally touching album. 

“Aren’t you used to it by now?” 

“Used to what?”

“People calling you faggot.” 

Trevor seemed to think about this for a second. He certainly had been called it, for various reasons, even before he knew what it meant, and Michael knew that. His dad had called him that, Ryan had, the kids at school had, and when he finally figured out what it meant, he beat the shit out of whoever called him that. Except for this time. Michael beat him to it. 

“Being used to something doesn’t mean I’m just going to put up with it.” He said. “You should be used to it to, and you still got mad. Don’t be a hypocrite.” 

“I’m not!” He said, and Trevor could feel an argument coming on. Good. He’s been jumping out of his skin all day. 

“Yes, you fucking are! You can’t knock a guy out for insulting me and then say that I can’t feel offended by the insult!”

“It’s different!” 

Trevor cut ahead of Michael, putting a hand on his chest. “Tell me. How exactly is it different? Enlighten me, sweetheart.” He smiled at him like he was going to eat him alive. 

He was very obviously trying to rile Michael up. He was close, too close to be in public. While Trevor didn’t care much about that, Michael did. He wasn’t ashamed of that.

He stepped backwards, letting Trevor's hand fall to his side. “Not right now.” 

Trevor put his hands on his hips and leaned his weight onto one leg. “Why not right now?” He was still smiling at him in that way. If he could gift one trait to Trevor, it would be subtlety.

“You know why.”

Trevor shrugged like he didn’t have a care in the world and scratched his cheek. “Not sure I do, cowboy. Maybe you’ll have to show me.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

-

august 1979

Michael and Trevor meet each other for the first time a week after Trevor moved in.

Trevor and Ryan were wrestling in the front yard, but involved punching and kicking. While Trevor tried to headbutt Ryan in the stomach, he remembered when they used to do this for fun. But this time, it was because Trevor had woken him up from his hangover nap on the couch.

As Trevor had briefly escaped his grasp, he noticed something interesting. There was a boy, watching them from the yard of the neighboring house. He had his hands stuck in his pockets and a mildly interested look on his face.

“What the fuck are you looking a-” Ryan yanked Trevor by his arm roughly, interrupting him. He was so caught off guard that his brother put him in a headlock with ease. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Trevor yelled, squirming in his grip, trying to kick the back of his legs and bite his arms. “You fucking cocksucker motherfucker! Let me go!” 

Ryan used his other arm to twist Trevor’s behind his back uncomfortably. “Are you going to apologize now?” He sounded threatening, but because he knew he wouldn't kill him, Trevor didn’t care very much. 

“No.” He spat. “Fuck you. You fucking crackhead loser.” He used all his strength to try to topple Ryan, to where he would fall and Trevor would wiggle free, but he was sturdy. He tightened his grip on Trevor’s arm. 

“Who are you calling a crackhead loser, faggot?” 

As if he wasn’t already angry enough, a burst of rage ran through him. He finally pushed Ryan hard enough to where he fell on his ass, instinctively trying to catch himself and letting go of Trevor. 

Ryan was about to start screaming when their mom came outside. Their spines stiffened, and their eyes dropped to the ground. 

“What the hell are you two going on about?” 

Even the stranger shrunk under her gaze.

“Trevor woke me up when I was sleeping.” Ryan said, pathetically. 

She stared critically at him. “Are you a toddler, Ryan?”

He shook his head feebly. 

“Just go back to sleep. I swear to God, I raised two absolute idiots.” She walked back inside, door slamming behind her. 

Ryan sniffed and stood up, turning to Trevor. “I’m going out.” He left before Trevor could say anything to him. 

After a short pause, the stranger cleared his throat. “Is that your brother?” 

“God, I didn’t know I was living next to Albert fucking Einstein. Yes. He’s a piece of shit.” Trevor became acutely aware of the pain in his shoulder, his back, and almost everywhere else. 

The stranger nodded. “Yeah. What kind of grown man beats on a, what, 15 year old?” 

“14.” 

“14 year old. What a dick.” 

“Astute observation.”

He seemed a little confused, but nodded anyways. “I’m Michael. I know you moved in last week, but nobody here is the type to bake a casserole or nothin’.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m Trevor. You probably heard.” 

Later, when a friend of Trevor’s asks if it was love at first sight, he wants to say yes. 

-

january 1982

When Amanda knocked on Trevor’s door one afternoon, he figures that Michael will be waiting on his porch for her to retrieve him, and that they’d go get drunk or see how many free samples that they could get at Hickory Farms.

But when he hoped the door, Michael wasn’t anywhere in sight. Just Amanda, rubbing her hands together and blowing into them. It was the type of cold where it probably wouldn’t feel half bad if it wasn’t so windy, but Trevor didn’t mind it.

“What?” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “No need for the hostility, Trevor. Anyways, you know that Michael’s eighteenth birthday is coming up right?” 

“Yes, I know my best friends birthday. I’m not an animal.” He stepped outside the door and closed the door behind him to avoid letting the cold air in the house. “Did you not know his birthday?” The tone was accusatory, but also curious. Did she really not know?

“No. I mean, nobody ever told me. I’m not a mind reader.” She was clearly getting a little annoyed, it was obvious she didn’t come for a long chat.

“You could have asked.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t. Anyways, I came here to ask you to come to a celebration, I guess.” She shifted and the porch made a loud creaking sound. It was early, and the sound was deafening.

“You’re throwing him a birthday party? Tough talk for someone who didn’t even know it for the one and some years you two have been friends.” 

She glares at him. “It’s not a birthday party. We’re just going to hang out, but I’m getting him a present. I bet you two have never given each other presents.” 

That was an untrue statement. They were both flat broke almost always, but they always tried.

For his 17th birthday, Trevor had spent the three months prior stealing movies from the video store for him. He had managed to snatch Jaws, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Shining, and Taxi Cab. Michael couldn’t watch them, especially not Rocky Horror, but he had them stacked up neatly in one of his drawers, waiting to play them one day.

For Trevor’s 15th, the first birthday after he met him, Michael had stolen 10 dollars from his dad’s wallet to buy him a cassette tape of Parallel Lines by Blondie. Trevor didn’t have anything to play it on, but it was his prized possession.

So yes. He has gotten him presents, even if it was it by sinister means. 

“Fuck you. And who do you plan on inviting to this little get together? Have you even told Michael?” 

She rolled her eyes again. “It’s a surprise party, dumbass. And it’s probably just going to be us, Franklin, Lamar, and Lester, as long as you invite him. The last time I went to his house he watched me leave and I think he was jerking off.” 

“That’s Lester for ya. And alright, I guess I’ll do your shitty surprise party.”

Michael’s birthday was January 31st, a sunday. That morning, Trevor waited around in his yard, pacing and smoking until Michael came out of his house.

“Good morning, birthday boy!” Trevor said, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out. “We’ve got plans.” 

“Do we?”

They usually smoked a lot of weed and jerked each other off after exchanging presents (not that this was out of the question, a birthday party couldn’t be that long), so Michael was confused. 

“You know it! Let’s go.” 

Amanda had told everyone to meet down by the creek early, because Michael woke up at noon most days, due to the fact he could rarely get to bed earlier than 5am. He had already seen everyone pass.

When Michael saw he was being led in that direction, he looked even more confused. “What are we even doing, man?” 

“God, you ask too many fucking questions.” 

Michael just groaned and followed helplessly. Trevor revelled in knowing this surprise was not going to go over well. Michael hated surprises. Maybe he’d start hating Amanda. 

He noticed that Michael was sporting four or five thumb-sized bruises on his neck. They were fresh, purple and sick. Trevor rarely asked about them.

Today was different, he was feeling agitated, so he gestured to his neck as his head was turned toward him and asked, “Birthday presents?” 

Michael automatically put his hand over the marks self-consciously. “Fuck you.” 

Trevor knew the story, anyways. He woke his dad up, or walked in front of the tv, or dropped something, or spoke to his mother a little cross, and his dad threw him around their living room until he got tired or Michael’s sister threatened to call CPS again. 

“I’m just lucky he didn’t send me to the hospital this time. He did break my bed again. Five slats under the mattress. Fucking asshole.”

This means the conflict happened in Michael’s room. He tried to envision the event, his father trying to strangle him as he slept. He wanted to kill him. He really did. 

“Fucking asshole, indeed. Well, it’s your birthday, and we’ve got something to cheer you up.” 

He timed this perfectly, as he stepped into the clearing next to the creek they hung out in and away from Michael’s line of sight. Everyone invited yelled, “Surprise!”

The surprise that erupted on Michael’s face was immediately followed by discomfort. 

Trevor smiled smugly when he saw this. He knew he was right and Amanda was wrong. It felt good to be right, especially over someone who he saw as a general rival. 

He also took this time to view the scene. Lamar had two 12 packs of beer at his feet, Franklin had a sloppily wrapped present in his hands, and Lester was still sitting due to his illness, with a present in his lap. Amanda had one in her hands. She looked nice, happy. 

“Aw, geez, guys. You didn’t have to do all this.” This was Michael language for, “I wish you hadn’t,” but the partygoers seemed satisfied with this answer. 

“Get over here, you old ass motherfucker, and let’s have a drink!” Lamar said, grinning and pointing to the cases of beer. Him and Franklin were only freshmen, each 14, but they could drink with the best of them. He didn’t know how he came into the alcohol he always seemed to have, but he thought it best to not ask questions. 

They all walked to sit around a fire pit that they rarely lit, each grabbing beers. Trevor forced himself directly in between Michael and Amanda in the circle, throwing his arm around Michael’s shoulders. He knew this was childish. He didn’t care.

After beer was distributed, presents were given. Lamar’s present was the beer, Lester got him “The Evil Dead” on VHS, Franklin got him a shirt for some football team they both liked and Trevor didn’t give a shit about, and Amanda bought him a cake. It was vanilla and kind of squished. She proudly said she baked it herself. 

They skipped the singing and went straight to eating, each grabbing forks Amanda had in the pocket of her giant hoodie. Trevor was so hungry, he dug in like he had never eaten before. Michael watched him bemusedly. Lester looked like he was about to gag. 

(After they all left, Trevor gave Michael his present when his dick was down his throat. It was a 100 dollar bill, stolen from his brothers wallet. Trevor winked up at him as he slid the bill into the hand that wasn’t wrapped in his hair.) 

—

june 1982

Trevor is freshly 18, one month out of high school, when he kills someone for the first time. 

It’s hot, too hot for his frigid Canadian bones, and he spends the whole day beforehand in bed, kicking at the fan on the floor when it stalls from over exertion. 

Not a bad day overall, though. Michael is in his parents house, trying to have a nice dinner with his mom and sister before his dad comes back and throws all the plates at the wall. He misses him, they’ve been spending every endless summer afternoon together, alone, while Amanda finished Algebra in summer school. 

But, at about 6pm, he hears his mom's boyfriend stumble through the door and slam his stuff on the ground. His name was Richard, and he was Trevor’s least favorite stepdad since the one who knocked two of his back teeth out.

He sighed, his sweaty tranquility ruined, but wasn’t plussed until he heard heavy footsteps down the hall, and then towards his room. Finally, Richard opened his bedroom door so hard that the doorknob punched a hole in the drywall. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Trevor asked, squinting at the man who stood in his doorway. Clearly piss-drunk and brooding, Richard took several heavy steps until he was looming over Trevor.

“Uh, what the fuck is your problem?” 

Then, Richard put out one thick hand to Trevor, and his body went into revolt. 

Ever since he was a child, his fits of rage have been so violent that his mind seems gone, leaking out of his ears or down the back of his throat like mucus. It’s a miracle when he remembers what led up to the fits, even more when he remembers what happens during.

The next thing he knew was that he was completely naked, high as a motherfucker in the comfortable, heroin sort of way, laying on his couch alone. A leg, not even twitching, stuck out from the hallway. 

“Mom?” He shouted, and gained no response. He dreaded to call the other member of his household, but eventually yelled for Ryan as well.

His brother poked his head out of the bathroom, looking more steady than usual. 

“Surprised you can still yell, T. I gave you the good shit.” Ryan scowled a bit, obviously resentful of wasting his heroin on his younger brother.

“Why? Where’s mom?” His words slurred out of his control, slipping past his tongue and drooling down his chin. 

Ryan laughed, in an unfunny, dismissive way. “You’re lucky she’s not home. You fucked Richard up.”

A wash of sweetness settles on Trevor, and he can barely keep his head up. It feels just like how it felt when he was 16 and shaved his legs in secret, and then slipped under his blanket. 

“Do you get it Trevor? You fucking killed him.”

And then Trevor nodded off, sliding deeper and deeper into that blanket until he was gone, gone, gone.


	2. epilogue

august 1992

Trevor is back in his home province for the week for his brothers funeral when he sees Michael again.

He’s in the bar, of course, drunk as he’s ever been, getting that rare ache in his bones for powder cocaine. He always wanted it when he was in a bar. It reminded him of being 19, making lines on the bathroom sink, a man older than him with atrophied muscles at his side. He remembers, “do the line, honey,” and watching his own young body twitching and flexing grotesquely. 

He takes another shot, and gets up to leave. He didn’t pay, but nobody ever tries to make him. 

The cold air slaps him in the face. He’s been in Los Santos for 4 years, running drugs across both borders, and his time in Canada has been punctuated by blue lips and numb hands. It’s snowing. He hasn’t seen it in those 4 years, and didn’t miss it one bit. 

Just as he’s getting his keys from his pocket, he feels three drumming fingers on his back. When he turns around to give the person a piece of his mind, he sees. 

It’s Michael. It’s obvious. He’s not as young, as fit, as beaten up as he always was as a teenager. But it’s him.

“Trev?” Michael asks, sweet and struck dumb, almost definitely a bit drunk. 

“Yeah.” 

They look at each other, the cold pressing between them. And Michael punches him in the face.

The wet smack echoes, and Trevor crumples at the middle, holding his tender jaw. Before he had time to question, Michael attacked again, tackling him to the ground and holding his wrists above his head.

“Just like fuckin, uh… Devin, right?” 

Michael ignored him, his face so twisted and horrible that Trevor almost shys from it. Almost. 

“Where the fuck did you go?” Michael eventually spat out at him, squeezing his wrists so tight that his fingers eventually began to lose feeling. “You didn’t even say goodbye to me.” 

Trevor was at a loss, so after a couple cold seconds, the back of his head pressed against the thin layer of snow on the concrete, he spoke. “It’s nice to see you, Mikey.” 

“I hate you.” Michael whispered. He was heavy, less muscle than Trevor. “You left me there.” 

“I didn’t leave you anywhere. You were the one who said you didn’t want to leave.” Trevor knew he couldn’t tell Michael about Richard, the way him and Ryan had dragged his dead body in a garbage bag out to a lake 10 miles away and heaved it in, the way one of his eyes had popped out of his head and quivered on his cheek like the water did as he sank.

“But you- you fucking-” Michael sputtered, spit spraying over Trevors face. “You didn’t say goodbye! Or come visit!” 

He had meant to say goodbye. Ryan gave him 200 dollars, said that he’d give him 30 minutes to say goodbye to Michael before he drove him into the next province. Ryan had told him sagely that he was never going to come back. 

So Trevor had stumbled to Amanda’s window, and peeped in. Hoping to somehow not see her at all, just see Michael sleeping in his boxer shorts. But he saw Amanda, facing the window, running her hand down her stomach as she rode Michael’s dick.

So yeah, no goodbyes. And he had stayed away, not because of Richards decomposing corpse, but because of the way he saw Michael grip Amanda's thighs when he came, how she smiled like she knew she had won. 

“I missed you.” Trevor said. This was true, he had spent every sober second thinking about him, who he had loved for the past 4 years, since that first second he saw him. But he hadn’t spent many sober seconds. In fact, what he had actually been doing the past 10 years was almost a complete mystery to him.

Michael frowned. “I fucking hate you, so much.” But he loosened the grip on his wrists a bit, apparently afraid that if he let him go, he’d run off into the night again.

“Really? 10 years without your best friend and all you can do is frown and mope?” Trevor said sardonically. “You should be happy, I think. I’m happy to see you.”

Was he? He didn’t know anymore.

“I’m far from fucking happy. What would you have done, huh? If I was the one who up and disappeared for no reason?” 

He had a point. Trevor probably would have burned the whole park down, broken glass bottles over his own head. Probably killed himself, like he thought about doing every day for years after he had to leave. That purposeful loneliness would have been even worse than the self-inflicted. 

“Well, I’m here now. Can you get the fuck off me?” Trevor grinned. “I won’t walk out on you, Mike.”

Michael got up wordlessly, and Trevor got to look at him, for real, again. He looked like his dad, deceptively strong, tall, wide jaw. He knew Michael probably looked in the mirror every day and hated it. 

“So… What’s next, cowboy?” 

Michael ran his hand over his face, in the old-man way he had always done. “Fucking… Do you wanna come back to my place? Kids are asleep but, you know.”

“Kids?!” This was more shocking than seeing Michael in the flesh again. Michael, who had often said he’d rather die than have to chase around a bunch of brats for the rest of his life. 

Michael shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. Shit happens. Condoms break, girlfriends-well, wives now- won’t get abortions. Two of them. Older girl, Tracey, she’s 9. Younger, his name is James. He’s 7. They’re both fucking shitheads.” 

Trevor laughed, throwing his head back. “A wife, James and Tracey, now that’s the funniest shit I heard all year. I gotta hand it to you, M, you have such a precious little life.” 

Michael scowled. “Fuck off. Like I said, didn’t want either of them. And what about you, T? I hope to god there’s no mini-Trevors running around and lighting shit on fire.”

“If I did, your kids are probably trying to fuck them in the ass.” 

Michael flushed boyishly, just like he always did when Trevor flirted. Some things never change. 

“Don’t act precious about it. So, who’s the wife?” 

Michael’s blush spread, splotching his neck and his hairline. “Well, you see, about that…”

“Don’t fucking tell me.”

Michael put his palms up flat and shrugged. “I think you can probably guess.” 

Laughter ripped through Trevor like a crack of lightning, and he doubled over from it, before grabbing at his still-tender jaw. Michael could still pack a punch. “You married the girl you dated in high school? Who the fuck even are you? And I bet you still cheat on her, too.” Still twisting his thumb in that wound. 

“Yeah, okay Trevor. And you were the innocent one in that situation.” 

“You struck me with your darling wit and expansive charisma, Mikey. Could never resist. I am the innocent one, you just tricked me.” He looked at him with his best impression, almost mockery, of innocence or naivete. Maybe he did really have that, once. 

“Get in my car, you fucking creep.” Michael eventually said, pulling out his keys. “Red one, right there.” He gestured to some middle-of-the-road car with one of the inside windows plastered with stickers. 

They drove most of the way there in silence. Trevor was comfortable again, after 10 years of feeling like his skin was a bit too itchy for his insides. But his drunk was beginning to wear off, and he felt uncomfortably sober, too close to feeling. When he looked at Michael, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, poking at the radio, pulling a cigarette from the pack, his heart sunk back into himself.

He didn’t want to feel like that anymore. That was what he had spent the past 10 years trying to avoid, by snorting coke until he felt his face drip down his neck, or smoking crystal like he was going to die the next day. 

He took inventory of the drugs he had with him. A gram of ket, enough heroin for one shot at most and sans kit, some MDMA he had bought back in Los Santos. 

He grumbled to himself and pressed his back tight to the seat of the car. Nothing serviceable to him right now. 

Michael took a tight right turn onto a familiar street, and Trevor's stomach dropped. 

“You guys live in the same fuckin trailer, eh?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mandy’s parents and her sister moved back out to the Quebecois shithole town that she lived in when she was little. So we got the house.” 

“What about your mom and dad?”

Michael slammed on the brakes a little harder than necessary when he pulled into the driveway. “Mom died. I visit my dad once a week to make sure he hasn’t dropped dead. He lives in the same damn place.” He paused.

They sit in the dark car, the air cold and still. 

“Why are you back anyways, Trev?” 

“Ryan. Kicked the bucket. Funeral is in two days. Probably just gonna be me and his girlfriend.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Michael was awkward, overly concentrated on picking at a loose thread on his jeans. 

“Whatever. He was a jackass, always was, probably until the day he died.”

“What about the time that he protected you from your moms boyfriend that-” 

“Are you going to invite me inside or what?” Trevor interrupted. He tried to mentally dodge the memories that came rushing at him, but they hit him right between the eyes. Being 7, standing in his underwear at Ryans door with blood smeared on his face, the way it had sounded when Ryan split the man's skull on their kitchen cabinet. 

God, he wanted a fucking xanax.

Michael took the message and opened his car door. Trevor followed, and just as they walked up the porch, Michael murmured, “Just be quiet when you’re inside. If Tracey wakes up now, she’ll be up all night.” 

Michawl fiddles with the front door a little bit before it yields, it’s been broken for about 15 years, and Trevor is immediately smacked with lights, the smell of popcorn, the same horrible wallpaper and kitchen tiles of his own trailer. Trevor hadn’t dared to peer back into the darkness, to seek where so much of his life had been built up and destroyed.

Walking in wearily, Michael looks around at the kitchenette and living room. “I think Mandy’s asleep. I hope.” 

“Why? You think she won’t be happy to see me?” Trevor closed the door behind him and leaned against it, taking in Michael’s domestic world. A crusty microwave, a shitty TV, a reclining armchair like the one Michael’s dad had often tortured his family from, a dirty orange cat slinking around the card table they seemed to eat their meals at. Michael ignored his comment with a point.

“It ain’t much.” Michael murmured, self-deprecatingly, and tugged at his shirt collar. Trevor wanted. He remembered curling up by the creek when they were 16, sucking on Michael’s neck until he was spotted dark purple, Michael’s hands gripping his matted hair between his hands. 

He never realized how much he missed him until now, standing with his ankles near-buckling, Michael thumbing his cheek. He wanted to get on his knees in front of him, press his face into his thighs, beg for them to leave together, kill themselves together, do anything together.

He needed to stop. “Where’s the bathroom in this fucking dump?” Trevor snarled, a bit nastier than necessary. His tone seemed to take Michael back, and he gestured down the hall.

“First door on the left?” He said, questioning the volatility. Trevor just stormed off, not worrying about waking his dumb fucking kids, or stupid Amanda.

As soon as he got into the bathroom, he turned his jacket pockets inside out. Same drugs he knew he had. Nothing surprised him. He wanted to punch their fucking mirror and slit his arms with those glimmering shards, watch how they danced in the light as he did something to ruin himself again. 

He shoved the drugs back in his pocket, took a piss, and left the bathroom, slamming the door a bit too much. Michael was sitting on the couch, staring at him, already a glass of wine in his hand. There was a matching one on the table.

“T, what the fuck is your problem?” 

“Nothing.” Trevor said back, too defensive to be true. 

“I just… I don’t know.” Michael said eventually, sighing. “Thought you’d be actually happy to see me.” 

Fucking sorry, moping, son of a bitch. Trevor wanted to sit on his lap and ride his dick and wring his fucking neck until all his stupid, childish melancholy rose out of him like steam on boiling water. 

“I am.” Trevor said eventually, sitting down next to Michael heavily and gulping his wine, ignoring how much he hates red. 

“You just don’t fucking seem like it.” 

“Well, you don’t know shit about me since I left.”

“Apparently fucking not.” Michael shot back, leaning back on the couch and rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Are you going to tell me why you left?”

“Just got into some shit.” Trevor said, which wasn’t technically untrue. “I hated this place anyways. We should've left when you walloped your dad.” 

“Can’t say I’ve never thought the same thing. I just- Trevor, I thought you were dead. I thought that your moms boyfriend had fucking killed you.” 

Not a stretch of the imagination by any means. It had almost happened many times, a couple while Michael knew him. When one of his moms “clients” had found a scrawny 14 year old in the living room and thought he was in for easy prey. When his mom's ex, four before Richard, had thrown him against the concrete outside so hard that his skull fractured like a watermelon rind. When he was 16, and another step dad made him sleep outside in December and he came to school with blue lips and fingernails. His english teacher had to take him to the hospital because his speech was so slurred that he sounded like a stroke victim. 

So yeah, not a crazy thought.

“No. He didn’t.” It was all he could think to say. Their teenage crimes, underage drinking and smoking weed, were nothing compared to what Trevor did, or what he has been doing since. He didn’t want Michael to find it in himself to snitch. 

“Is your mom still around?” Michael eventually asked, gingerly. 

“Prison.” Trevor said, so curtly that you could have blinked and missed him saying it entirely. 

“Oh.” Pause. “Trevor, I really can’t tell you how much I missed you, man.”

And Trevor's heart split in half like a cleaved apple. 

“I missed you too. I missed everything.” That anger spilled out of him, and he was left feeling wanting, just that stupid way he felt when he saw Michael at his football games, sweaty and always moving, running headlong into some dumb jock, powered only by years full of childhood rage. 

Michael gave him a look. He recognized it, even though it crossed older, more lined features. When they were in class together, Michael would give him that look and he knew that, when they got back to the trailer park, he’d be on his knees within a quarter of an hour. 

“Everything?” Michael was a bit breathless. 

“Everything.” 

Michael set down his wine glass, and used that hand to creep up Trevors thigh, massaging and tracing. They kept looking at each other, Trevor not looking where Michaels hand got closer and closer to his dick, which was already hard in his jeans.

“Remember christmas, Mikey? When we were 16?” Trevor whispered, scooting a bit closer. “When I sucked you off for the first time, and you came in my mouth, and I told you I loved you?” 

Michael nodded.

“I fucking meant it.” 

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic was written between november 30 2017-january 19 2020.


End file.
